


Personal Touch

by KelpieChaos



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Age Difference, Coerced Consent, Could Be Canon, Crying, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hand Jobs, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Nipple Play, Painplay, Physical Abuse, Public Sex, Virgin Yusuke, Watersports, Yusuke has a Rough Time, victim blaming himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26505493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpieChaos/pseuds/KelpieChaos
Summary: “You are getting to be the age where you’re desiring a more...personal touch, after all. It’s not surprising that you’d want it from me.”“What...do you mean?” Yusuke started at how hoarse his voice was. He swallowed, a dawning sense of unease growing in him.Madarame smiled. He stepped forwards, and Yusuke grunted as his hand gripped his chin and pulled Yusuke down. Chapped lips pressed against his own, dry and strange and-Yusuke ripped himself away, stumbling to the side and then backwards, away from Madarame’s reach and the hard surface he’d been pinned against. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, but the sensation of lips pressed against his didn’t fade. From the corner of his eye, he saw Madarame move towards him and he tripped away, sending a frantic look for the door.It was behind Madarame.
Relationships: Kitagawa Yusuke/Madarame Ichiryusai
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Darkest Night 2020





	Personal Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxjar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxjar/gifts).



Pride and nausea twisted Yusuke's gut, and he carefully didn't look at the massive painting in the corner of the gallery. It was ~~his~~ Madarame's best work yet: a sprawling landscape at dawn, red light spilling over a small country village – like blood, like eagerness, depending on what you wanted to see.

Yusuke didn't know what he wanted to see.

He stayed quietly out of the way, aware that his temper was inappropriate and uncalled for. Aware of the irritation underlying each of the glances Madarame sent him. He busied his hands with the pamphlets the guests would take later, once the gallery opened for the day, and let the murmur of the guards and Sensei discussing security flow around him. Most of the visitors would be adults, so most of the pamphlets needed to be in easy reach for them, but a few young children are always brought along, and he always liked putting a handful of pamphlets down lower for them. Shuffling them around, he stepped back.

The edge of a conversation caught his ears: murmured awe at Madarame's skill at blending the reds of the rising sun with the blues of the fading shadows.

~~It wasn't his-~~ No, those pamphlets wouldn't do at all. Yusuke jerked them out of their pockets, gathered them with sharp motions. He needed to _focus_ , not get distracted by petty emotions that didn’t even matter because he’d already agreed years ago and just this morning and-

"Yusuke."

He froze at his sensei's voice. Yusuke was sure that it sounded pleasant to everyone else, but he could hear the displeasure turning his name into censure. Closing his eyes a moment, he took a deep breath, letting it bury his roiling emotions as it left him. Empty, he turned to face Madarame.

Sharp, old eyes met his own, and Yusuke felt a burst of cold anxiety freeze the dregs of his anger.

But all Sensei did was tilt his head towards one of the back hallways and say, "This way."

Yusuke followed. Heat pricked at his nerves again at the way he was just expected to do as he was told, but long established habit kept him in line. He didn't want to know what would happen if he strayed. All the others had rebelled, and all it achieved was the end of their art and Sensei's grace. There wasn't anyone - any _thing_ \- else for Yusuke if Sensei threw him out for being ungrateful.

Madarame’s pace was deliberate, focused enough that no one stopped him for conversation but in no particular rush. Yusuke trailed him into the hallway, blinking as he stepped out of the gallery. The hallway was lit more, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. When his vision cleared, he noticed that Madarame had stopped a few steps away, and was standing turned to watch Yusuke. He was waiting, and Yusuke felt an embarrassed flush warm his cheeks. Of course Sensei would be prepared where Yusuke himself hadn’t been. Quickly, he caught up, eyes lowered and head ducked. Could he do nothing right today?

A moment passed where Sensei’s eyes were heavy on him, and then he continued towards wherever he was leading him. As far as Yusuke knew, there were no offices or back rooms down this hallway, just an emergency escape, a janitor’s closet, and the public restrooms. Madarame pushing the mens’ room door open made Yusuke’s heart skip a beat. Scolding himself for the irrational worry, Yusuke followed his sensei in.

The lights of the mens’ room were bright, white porcelain gleaming under harsh fluorescents. Yusuke let the door fall shut behind them, and the soft thud of it hitting the frame sent tension skittering up his spine. Sensei still hadn’t said a word to him.

Yusuke watched as Sensei surveyed the empty restroom before turning to survey Yusuke, his hands still neatly folded in his sleeves.

“Well,” he finally said, “tell me what has you so in knots this morning.”

Too many words tangled on Yusuke's tongue. Accusations and questions and pleas all fought to be freed, and he shook his head, unable to sort any of them out. He wanted to know how long Madarame would be passing his art off for his own, where Madarame went all those nights he was left alone in their home, what the shouting had been about when Madarame’s last student had run out crying and never came back.

“No? Should I guess?” Madarame’s voice was light, airy, as if none of this mattered to him. Yusuke opened his mouth to say...something, but Madarame continued before he could get anything out. “I suppose you must be jealous. I’ve been leaving you alone to focus on setting up this gallery, after all, and you have always been hungry for my attention.”

Jealous? Yusuke felt his arms cross over his stomach, defensive and protecting. Jealous didn’t sound right, but he couldn’t figure out why before Madarame kept talking.

“You are getting to be the age where you’re desiring a more...personal touch, after all. It’s not surprising that you’d want it from me.”

“What...do you mean?” Yusuke started at how hoarse his voice was. He swallowed, a dawning sense of unease growing in him.

Madarame smiled. He stepped forwards, and Yusuke grunted as his hand gripped his chin and pulled Yusuke down. Chapped lips pressed against his own, dry and strange and-

Yusuke ripped himself away, stumbling to the side and then backwards, away from Madarame’s reach and the hard surface he’d been pinned against. He dragged the back of his hand over his mouth, but the sensation of lips pressed against his didn’t fade. From the corner of his eye, he saw Madarame move towards him and he tripped away, sending a frantic look for the door.

It was behind Madarame.

“Now, Yusuke-” he started, hand raised towards him.

“Don’t touch me!” Yusuke’s voice was high with alarm, but he couldn’t care about that as he tried to avoid that hand and get to the door.

Suddenly he was against the wall, urinal between his legs and arm pulled up between his shoulder blades. Gasping, he froze as his brain tried to catch up with what just happened.

Hot breath hit his ear, and Yusuke flinched away, hissing as the motion wrenched his twisted shoulder. The tile was cold against his hand where he'd automatically braced against the wall, so much colder than that body pressed against his back.

"That's no way to thank your sensei for giving you attention, now is it, Yusuke?" Dark amusement filled the words.

Squirming, Yusuke felt fuzzy panic boil up as Madarame's grip didn't budge. Pushing back shoved him closer to that too warm body behind him, and he couldn't turn without pulling painfully at his captured wrist and shoulder. "Let me go!"

Madarame hummed faux thoughtfully, and Yusuke's breath heaved as his hand traced down his side. "I don't think so. Your body wants this so badly, after all."

Pressure between his legs made Yusuke gasp, his hips jerking as his cock was massaged.

"See? You're more than half hard already."

Yusuke shook his head, bright flares of sensation following each of Madarame's touches. He was caught between hand and hips, knees trembling with the foreign feeling of being touched. He could feel his face twist, and he dropped his head to hide against his arm, even as he couldn't stop the breathy grunts spilling from his open mouth and his cock filling under the relentless pressure. Pleasure crawled through him like ants under his skin, and he felt lightheaded with disbelief and disgust and desperation.

"There we go," Madarame praised. "You're so eager. How long have you been wanting this, Yusuke?"

"I haven't-" The sound of his zipper cut him off. His pants slid down, exposed the band of his underwear to questing fingertips.

Yusuke shuddered, caught between the ticklish desire for Madarame’s touch to settle harder against the skin edging this underwear and the nauseous burning need for Madarame to stop touching him at all.

“Please, Sensei, s-”

“Shh…” His fingers drew up Yusuke’s stomach, then pushed down under loose cotton, brushing through the trail of curls. “I know what you want.”

His hand wrapped around Yusuke’s cock with a burst of hot sensation. Gasping, Yusuke couldn’t help the thrust of his hips into Madarame’s grasp. It felt so different than when Yusuke took himself in hand, stronger and wilder, firmer yet more gentle at the same time. Sensei’s calluses were in different spots than his own. His skin felt different, softer with age and loose on the steel bands of his bones.

Madarame’s low chuckle filled his ears as he pushed - closer, away - and twisted, a hitched sob burying itself in his arm.

“See now, what did I tell you?” Sense gave him a long, slow stroke, and Yusuke heard himself keen. “All you wanted was some personal attention.”

He hadn’t wanted it - didn’t want it - Yusuke was sure. Or, he thought he hadn’t? Sensei’s hand was just so much on him, moving in a steady pattern he couldn’t predict. He couldn’t breathe for how overwhelming the sensations were, stuttering gasps fighting his racing heart and making him dizzy. Panic still tasted acrid on the back of his tongue, but Yusuke couldn’t tell if the tears on his face were from pleasure or pain anymore.

And Sensei knew people so much better than he did. He must have been asking for this, for Sensei to act, to take him in hand in such a fashion.

Was it his fault? But he had said no, told-

Sensei’s thumb swiped over the head of his cock. Yusuke jolted at the sharp burst of almost pain, grunting as he wrenched his shoulder against Madarame’s grip.

The flare of white hot agony cleared some of the fog. He’d said _no_. That meant he didn’t want this - had explicitly asked for it not to happen.

A fingertip massaged just under his cock head, sent spiraling heat swirling through his guts. A high whine filled the air as his knees went loose. Bright static stole his thoughts from him, left him shaking under the assault of that finger. He sobbed, jerked his head side to side even as his hips stuttered to push his cock for more.

The hand left him.

Yusuke slowly found himself, bent over and panting against where his wrists braced him against the cold tile of the wall. Sensei’s hands held his hips steady against the pull of gravity.

All his classmates spoke of how good it felt to touch and be touched. And Yusuke himself had seen conversations filled with yeses that meant no and nos that truly meant yes. He’d said no, but...but he must have meant yes, because Sensei said he’d wanted this. And now, with Sensei’s hands still against the skin of his hips, Yusuke found himself _wanting_. His skin itched where he’d been touched, and barbed heat pulsed through him with every heartbeat.

Sensei had told him – Sensei, who knew of the world better than Yusuke could ever pretend to. Knew _Yusuke_ better than anyone. He’d put years into his study, raising him as he had. Yusuke owed his art, his safety, his _life_ to Sensei, and then had the audacity to refuse Sensei’s knowledge? Shame filled him, hot as the knotted burning of his desire.

But Sensei didn’t move to touch him. He’d been _ungrateful_. He’d thought he knew better and forced Sensei to shepherd him to the right answer instead of believing him and trusting him to give Yusuke what he needed.

The sudden fear of being left like this, abandoned before Sensei could give him the attention he’d promised crashed through him.

“Please…” Anguish tangled his voice with need, strangling the rest of his words.

“Hmm? What was that, Yusuke?” Sensei leaned into him, captured him tighter between body and wall. One of his hands slid up Yusuke’s body, under his shirt, the press of his palm calming and maddening at once.

Yusuke gagged on his voice, some small part of him shrieking still that Sensei's hands on him felt like they were covering his skin with sludge. He smothered it. Sensei was right, was _always_ right, and he knew better than Yusuke and had told Yusuke he wanted it and Yusuke _did_ want it and _he would leave if Yusuke didn't speak up._

"Please touch me!" Yusuke gasped, punched out through spiraling alarm and sinking regret.

Sensei's smile curved against the back of his neck.

"Of course."

The hand left on Yusuke's hip drifted down, gently trailed touches across his thigh, left goosebumps in its wake as it curved between his legs. Yusuke shuddered as it traced its way up, measuring the weight of his balls for long seconds. His heart pounded against Sensei's palm on his chest, and something thick filled his throat, clogged his sinuses.

Sensei's hand wrapped around him. Yusuke gasped, braced for it to go back to the overwhelming stroking of before. But it didn't move.

"What do you say, Yusuke?"

Panting, Yusuke just shook his head. Sensei's voice was patient, expecting, like he should know the answer immediately but that Sensei wouldn't mind telling him it again.

"I'm doing you a favor, Yusuke, so what do you say?"

A wash of embarrassment flooded Yusuke as he scrambled to get the words out. "Th-thank you, Sensei."

Humming, Sensei tapped his fingers against Yusuke's chest. "There's a good boy."

Thorns tangled under his ribcage, but all Yusuke could do was groan as Sensei started stroking him. It built feverishly back up to where he'd been before, quick blooming roses of pleasure heating him even as fractious sounds ripped out of him, past his thick throat and dripping tears.

He heard the restroom door open, but its meaning was slow to hit him.

The sound of piss hitting the urinal next to him followed swift on the heels of the realization: someone had come in. Could see him. Was watching as Sensei took him in hand.

Broken whines pushed past clenched teeth as Yusuke's hands shot down to wrap around Sensei's wrists. A click of Sensei's tongue froze him, hands clenched too loose to pull Sensei off him.

Yusuke stood, and shook, and panted, unable to do anything but hope the man would finish his business and leave. The flush of the urinal nearly made him sob in relief; the man would leave now, and hopefully not spread tales of what he saw. Sensei's hand hadn't paused for a second; there was no denying what he was doing.

A rough hand curled around his jaw, turned his face and pulled him off balance. Lips crashed down on his. A wet tongue shoved its way into his mouth, pushed against his own and lapped across the roof of his mouth. Disgust made Yusuke gag, the sensation of saliva dripping down his chin and the taste of the man's mouth abhorrent. Why was this happening? Why wasn't Sensei stopping him? His hands rose to shove the man away, fingers catching on his jacket's lapels as he struggled to organize his limbs enough to push.

He found himself collapsing against the man with a plaintive keen instead as the hand over his heart moved to twist a nipple. It _hurt_ , it was too much, burning pain making the hand on his cock excruciatingly pleasurable even as he desperately wanted Sensei to let his chest go. He couldn't help the stutter of his hips any more than he could stop the man from finding its pair, rubbing harsh circles around it before plucking at the tip, sending bright pricks of sensation through him, cutting through the dull bruised feeling of Sensei's hand still twisting and counterpoint to the quick strokes on his cock.

Wet gasps choked him, thwarted half his attempts to breathe past the man slobbering sloppy kisses over his mouth. He could feel the tears dripping down his cheeks, and hiccuped a painful sound when the man ran his tongue along the trails. The man shoved his tongue back inside Yusuke's mouth, and he could taste the salt of his own tears even as the man grunted and moaned into him.

Something hot and wet hit his cock, was smeared against his skin by Sensei's hand.

Finally the man released him, giving him a couple light pats on his cheek before stepping back. Yusuke heard him say something to Sensei, but the words were lost in the uproar of his head. White slicked his skin, flecks of it sticking to his curls and matting them down as Sensei's hand pushed more of it into them. Somehow, the idle thought that it didn't look any different than his own come drifted through his mind. He latched onto it. If he just ~~ignored that it wasn't~~ ~~pretended that it was~~ his then he could-

"Ah!" Yusuke writhed as the sound was punched out of him. Sensei had finally let his chest free, and the rush of blood felt worse than the twisting had. He could feel the broken capillaries flooding with blood, could imagine how the skin bruised under Sensei's fingers. And he kept playing with it, pinching the sensitive tip and tugging, pushing it down with his thumb and rubbing hard circles into the muscle under it.

Broken sobs hitched his breath as Yusuke fought against himself, spine arching to escape the torment until he was pressed against Sensei even as his hips chased the hand on him. He was stuck on a high wire between distraught pain and desperate pleasure, and every motion buffeted him back and forth in their grips. Tension coiled low in his guts, egged on by the way Sensei's grin pressed against his shoulder.

Sensei pushed his finger just under his cock head again, hit that same bright spot as before. He pressed tight circles to it, mirroring the action with his thumb on Yusuke's nipple.

Yusuke's throat broke around the sound he made as everything went white.

Slowly, panting lightly still, Yusuke realized he was on his knees, tile cold through his pants. He was braced against the urinal, hands curled around its edge as he shivered, head tipped over the bowl and temple resting on the knuckles of his hand. Blinking, he tried to pull himself together. There was come splattered against the ceramic just an inch or two from his nose. His own or that man's, he didn't know.

The shuffle of cloth came from behind him. Yusuke shifted, raised his head to turn towards where Sensei stood.

A hot stream splashed against his cheek. Stunned, Yusuke froze, eyes wide as he struggled to understand what was happening.

Lightly golden liquid swirled in the bottom of the urinal, dripping off his skin. He could taste it, musky and salty.

Sensei grunted, and the flow tapered off. A few stray droplets landed on his shirt, and Yusuke could feel them seep into the fabric. The rustle of fabric came from behind him again, but this time Yusuke didn't turn to see.

"Clean yourself up," Sensei ordered, voice genial but hard. "You're a mess."

Yusuke forced his throat to swallow, but no words rose through it. Woodenly, he let his head bob in something he hoped Sensei would accept as a nod of acknowledgment.

"Good."

Footsteps turned away from him; the door swished open then settled shut with a gentle thud.

Yusuke sat on the cold tile, tears and piss cooling on his face, come drying on his cock. He could hear the gallery opening for its first guests in the distance. The sound swelled as, presumably, Sensei entered the room.

He should be there, as Sensei's apprentice. 

He should clean himself up.

.........In just a moment. He just...needed a moment.

Sensei had said he wanted it.

**Author's Note:**

> My _lovely_ friends told me to replace "nipples" with "nip nops". I told them I'd put that in the end notes. Checkmate, fuckers.


End file.
